


A Condition of Happiness

by eadunne2



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Banter, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sassy, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: “I don't really like -”“But you always -”And at that, the confusion on Mike's face clears to horrified realization, because they both know that whenever Harvey steals his coffee, it's sweet and creamy, but why on earth, if he prefers black coffee spiked with espresso?A series of expressions flicker across his face, like he’s thinking of laughing it off or making an excuse, but in the end he stands to stare out the window, shoulders slumped beneath the exhaustion that’s been tailing him the past few weeks.“It’s a condition of happiness,” he whispers finally.





	

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit this is just a piece of cotton candy. i don't even know...

“Hey, I was drinking that!”

Harvey makes sure to hide his grin against the lid of the coffee cup as they step into the elevator. “After lunch I need you to finish the -”

“Done hours ago.” 

“No need to look so self-satisfied. What about the edits for -”

“On your desk since noon.”

“Did you call -”

“She didn’t want to testify, but since I’m a charming genius, I got her to agree.”

Doing his damndest to hide his pride, Harvey says, “Louis has been working on her for weeks.”

Mike smirks. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

It’s not like he can say, ‘I love you,’ so he takes a long pull of Mike’s coffee. It’s perfect as always - sweet with only a splash of cream. 

“I have Robert Downey Jr. on speed dial.”

Blue eyes grow round. “You do not.”

“Are we gonna have another Michael Jordan incident?” 

Stretching, Mike ignores the question, nodding at the coffee in Harvey’s hand. “I think you owe me a hot dog. And the story of how the hell you got RDJ’s number.”

“This is just a ploy not to have to pay for your own lunch.”

“I’ll bat my eyelashes if you want...”

Dryly, Harvey replies, “That won’t be necessary.”

Obviously. He’d sell his soul for the kid, before anyone even found out he had one.

\--

He sees Mike down the hall and shifts over to the far side of the couch. 

It’s not something a boss should know about an employee, but Mike’s always cold. He’ll hunch in towards Harvey while they talk in the street, away from the wind and towards familiar warmth. He’s draped in giant sweatshirts and fluffy socks the handful of times Harvey’s appeared unannounced at his apartment, and he works on the wood floor of Harvey’s condo directly over the vent, though the room is littered with designer furniture on which to perch instead. 

Through most of the day, sun splashes across this room. They really should draw the blinds - it’s going to fade the leather sooner rather than later - but when Mike comes up to the office he beelines to whichever end of the couch is soaked in light and curls up there, entirely at ease in Harvey’s space. As the heat seeps into Mike’s shoulders he gives a little shiver, then the tension flows out like a waning tide. It’s Harvey’s fault Mike’s always strung tight beneath the Atlas-heavy responsibility of their job, so it’s the least he can do to give him a moment or two of relief. 

“Don’t look so chipper,” Harvey mutters as Mike yawns. The kid’s been tired a lot lately, but whenever Harvey asks he just smiles, a little mournful perhaps, and it feels like a punch to the gut, that withholding of information. 

“Sorry. I have some questions about the sale.”

“You know, there’s this thing called the internet.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he answers, too quickly, too honestly, but Mike smiles like the sun he's draped in, and Harvey returns it by accident. 

The questions, of course, reveal more brilliance than inexperience from the kid, and Harvey finds himself wrapped up in the intricacies of their craft. They make headway on the case, then the kid wedges his feet beneath Harvey’s thigh to keep them warm as they return to their own individual work.

He tries to focus he really does, but Mike looks so beautiful, sleeves cuffed, and wriggly with Redbull, distracting as hell before taking into account the humming under his breath. “Shut up,” Harvey finally says after half a fucking album of random tunes, frustrated at his own lack of self-control, but Mike just increases his volume with one corner of his mouth twitching. “You're a nightmare.”

“You hired me.”

“Ugh.”

“Oh come on. Admit it. You need me.”

 _You have no idea._ “Someone's cocky.”

“Learned from the best.”

Lightening fast, Harvey grabs him by the scruff, pressing just hard enough to manipulate Mike's head from side to side, and the kid screeches in ticklish laughter. “Too bad you never learned to keep your mouth shut.”

Between wheezing giggles Mike manages, “Got that from you, too.”

With a huff, Harvey releases him, palm aflame where it’s brushed Mike's skin. “You’re welcome.”

“Should I get you some ‘thank you’ flowers? Or - how ‘bout a mug? World’s Bitchiest Boss?”

"Mike..." Harvey warns.

“Ok, ok, I think I’ve got something they'll agree to.”

He takes the proffered document and scans the edits. For a genius, Mike's handwriting is a mess and at Harvey's observation of it the kid chuckles, letting his head drop to rest on the back of the couch. 

“Yeah, my dad used to bribe me into practicing my penmanship by letting me write cuss words on the whiteboard in his office. If you ever need someone to scribe “fucking asshole,” I do it quite beautifully.”

Harvey snorts. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I’m a man of many gifts,” Mike sniffs. 

“I’ll say.”

There’s gratitude in Mike’s eyes at the sincerity in Harvey’s answer. It’s hard to keep the rest of it to himself, but Harvey’s not looking to fuck up the best thing he has. 

Mike falls asleep on the couch. Harvey absolutely does not spend a quarter of an hour thanking stars he’d given up wishing on that he gets this, if nothing else - a chance to keep his guy safe and warm.

\--

“You’re an angel,” Mike says. 

“Quit sucking up,” Harvey chastises.

Donna grins and sets the donuts on the desk. “Keep sucking up. I like to bask in my awesomeness.” Harvey sighs heavily. “Oh calm down, Princess. Here’s your coffee - sugar, splash of cream. 

“You’re an angel,” he smiles. 

Mike raises his brows. “Really.”

“And for our boy Redeye here...”

“Pardon?” Harvey says.

“It’s what guys at the Grind call him,” Donna laughs and pats Mike’s shoulder. “You should probably go easy on these if it's become a nickname.”

“I like them!” he protests.

She grimaces. “Battery acid?”

“Your words, not mine,” he says, and let's the bitter brew sweep over his tastebuds to sting his throat. 

She rolls her eyes. “Have a good day, boys.”

Mike's finished half his drink by the time he notices Harvey staring at him. 

“What?”

“Redeye?”

“...yeah?”

“Every day?”

“Usually.”

“No cream or sugar?”

“I don't really like -”

“But you always -”

And at that, the confusion on Mike's face clears to horrified realization, because they both know that whenever Harvey steals his coffee, it's sweet and creamy, but why on earth, if he prefers black coffee spiked with espresso?

A series of expressions flicker across his face, like he’s thinking of laughing it off or making an excuse, but in the end he stands to stare out the window, shoulders slumped beneath the exhaustion that’s been tailing him the past few weeks. 

“It’s a condition of happiness,” he whispers finally.

“What?” Harvey joins him at the glass, treading carefully, but close.

“A condition of happiness. Heinlein.” 

“Stranger in a Strange Land?”

“Then you know.”

But he doesn’t - can’t quite remember. It’s been years since he’s read it, and he doesn’t have Mike’s mind, but he dives into his brain in search of the line anyway because the look on the Mike’s face tells him this might be the most important conversation they ever have. 

“I don’t -”

“You have a sweet tooth,” Mike interrupts. 

“I absolutely do not.”

“You do. I like that you steal my coffee,” Mike admits. “And you do it all the time. So I figured, might as well… ah. It’s dumb.” Sheepishly, the kid blinks up at him, delicate bones thrown into relief by the sun. “I just want you to be happy.”

A condition of happiness... The happiness of another…

He can’t believe it, won’t be able to stand it if he’s wrong, but there’s no going back so Harvey turns to watch Mike’s profile as he says softly, _“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”_

Into the quiet, the kid shrugs. “It’s been a rough couple weeks. For both of us. What’s wrong with a little happiness?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. Happiness is not the word I’m stuck on right now.”

Blushing, Mike scuffs his shoe into the carpet. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not?”

Whatever Harvey’s inadvertently let into his voice startles Mike into up looking at him. “Do you want it to be?”

“The coffee isn’t the part of that exchange that makes me happy, MIke.”

“It’s not?” Harvey rolls his eyes and shakes his head, reaching out to take Mike’s face against his palm. “What, then?” the kid whispers hopefully.

“You're the genius.”

“Say it anyway.”

Harvey leans in. “You, idiot. It’s you.”

\--

They don’t have days off. It’s Easter so the office is closed, but it’s seven am and they’re both knee deep in spreadsheets. 

Mike’s curled up on a stool at the kitchen island. The light from the tall windows bathes him in protective light, and Harvey can tell by the set of his shoulders that despite frowning at his laptop, the kid is relaxed, and by the corner of his mouth that he’s pleased about something. One hand absently extends to the mug of coffee, but it’s empty, and Mike’s so focused he just plops it down and goes back to rapid fire data entry. 

Across the counter, Harvey sets down the packet of papers he’s reading and plucks the mug off the marble. He fills it with scalding black coffee, but instead of sliding it back, he rounds the island and comes up behind Mike to kiss his neck for a long breath. 

Mike doesn’t look up from his computer as he retrieves Harvey’s work and hands it to him over one shoulder, using the other hand to wind one of Harvey’s arms around his own waist. Leaning back into Harvey’s body he drains half the coffee in one go with that same pleased shiver he gives to the sun. 

“Punk.”

Grinning, Mike turns his face up for a kiss before returning to work, snuggling against his boyfriend with a contented sigh, so Harvey resigns himself to acting as living furniture, returning to the text Mike handed him. There are a million smart ass comments on his tongue, but not one of them makes it past his lips. There’s not a goddamn thing to complain about. 

Right now, he’s just happy.


End file.
